Bella
by sparkle-cullen
Summary: She had the sweetest blood he had smelt in eighty years. He could never have imagined such a scent could exist. If he had known it did, he would have gone searching for it long ago. He would have combed the planet for her. He could imagine the taste…


**Submitter Notes:** The story of Twilight (Chapter 2) from Edward Cullen's point of view. DISCLAIMER: the characters, plot and most of the dialogue do not belong to me; they belong to the incredible Stephenie Meyer!

It had arrived. The lesson which I had been dreading and anticipating since I had decided to grace the school with my presence this morning.

I had spent the whole of lunchtime staring at the girl, whose delectable scent I could smell, even when it was masked by the mediocre redolences belonging to the other students sat in the cafeteria, and the unappealing aroma of the nauseating food being served. It took all of my strength not to move towards her stealthily and bite her before she was even able to realise what was happening. Of course, I would then have had to silence the other students one way or another. I had endeavoured to concentrate on other things, such as our snowball fight, however some inexplicable force seemed to force my eyes to remain fixed on her.

I had caught her glancing at me once or twice during that long lunchtime, her cheeks flushing the dazzling pink colour they often adopted when I was nearby, or the sole object of her attentions. She had caught my eye once, and we had both stubbornly refused to acknowledge each other's existence.

I had a suspicion that she was angry with me, perhaps due to the disappearing act I had pulled or perhaps as a result of my conversation with Mrs Cope regarding my request to switch biology classes.

As I walked into the classroom, I noticed that her body was angled away from the door and that she was doodling somewhat absent mindedly on her notebook. I saw that she had placed her textbook in the centre of our shared desk, assumably to act as a barrier between us.

As I walked towards her, the exquisitely floral and feminine fragrance which enshrouded her body strengthened, and I could almost taste her blood in my burning mouth. I could feel my eyes darkening and I attempted not to succumb to the bloodlust which was fighting for control of my vampiric soul.

My hand made contact with my assigned seat, and I saw her jump slightly, before determinedly turning her head even further away from me, her brunette hair swinging and diffusing her delicious bouquet towards me. She continued to doodle on her notebook, her eyes remaining focussed on they delicate pattern she was drawing.

"Hello," I said quietly, sitting down in my chair, moving it as far away from hers as was possible, but tilting it towards her, and speaking before I had really had time to think.

She sighed slightly, and turned slowly to face me. I suddenly felt conscious of my sodden hair, imagining how dishevelled I must look. Her mirror like eyes were wide and deep, like windows into her soul. The opacity of those windows frustrated me eminently, for I was unable to see her thoughts, as I could with most people.

It was exasperating that my ability usually functioned, enabling me to hear Jessica Stanley's inconsequential internal chatter, Eric Yorkie's fanciful fantasies and Lauren Mallory's jealous thoughts, and yet failed for the one girl whose thoughts I actually cared about understanding. I was not even aware why I wanted so desperately to understand the inner workings of her mind. She was not only a human, but a human whose blood I was strongly contemplating drinking. But, for some incomprehensible, even to my somewhat superior intellect, reason, I had the desire to find out more about her.

She gave me a funny look, and seemed reluctant to speak.

"My name is Edward Cullen," I began, tentatively, "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week, you must be Bella Swan.

She looked rather scared at what I believed was a perfectly innocent statement. "H-how do you know my name?" She stammered.

I cursed myself for using her name, when she was obviously unaware that I knew it. I laughed softly at the irony of the situation - I was worried about scaring her by using her first name, when I was clandestinely wishing to kill her.

I thought fast, "Oh, I think everyone knows your name, the whole town's been waiting for you to arrive." It was true after all, and most of the male humans in the school had thought about her constantly since the news broke that Charlie Swan's seventeen year old daughter was moving to live in Forks.

She seemed pleased at the flattery, and her cheeks reclaimed the pinkish tint which tempted me so. She appeared to be thinking of something to say to continue the conversation.

"No," she said, cringing slightly, "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"

I was confused, I had heard all her friends call her Bella, so I had just assumed that she preferred it. "Do you prefer Isabella?"

She spoke fast, as if embarrassed by what words were leaving her lips, "No, I like Bella, but I think Charlie - I mean my dad - must call me Isabella behind my back - that's what everyone here seems to know me as."

"Oh." I was at a loss for what to say. She looked away from me awkwardly, scattering her alluring scent again.

I suppressed the strong urge to taste her, and was thankful that Mr Banner started class at that moment. It was a lab I had studied countless times previously at various schools. We were to work as partners, separating slices of onion root tip cells, and labelling them accordingly with their stages of mitosis.

Displeasingly, my partner seemed in no hurry to work in conjunction with me, so I prompted her.

"Ladies first, partner?" I asked, attempting, and no doubt failing, to be charming. She just stared at me, and I wondered if she did not understand the task we had been set. Not wanting to embarrass her, I volunteered myself, "Or I could start, if you wish."

"No, I'll go ahead." Her cheeks grew yet redder as she snapped the first slide into place under the microscope, adjusting the objective.

She studied the cells briefly, "Prophase," she declared, smiling slightly.

I let out a slow breath. She was smart. I was suddenly filled with sadness; she had such potential. Potential that was nearing its apocalypse, should I be unable to tame the monster inside of me.

"Do you mind if I look?" I asked as she began to remove the slide.

My hand caught hers and I felt the humane warmth of it. It had been so long since I had touched someone unlike myself, someone who had warm blood flowing freely through their veins and arteries. She jerked her hand away, but for the briefest moment we were in contact, a spark of electricity ran through my body, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

"I'm sorry." I muttered, quickly moving my hands to my side of the table, yet still leaned towards the microscope.

I looked at the slide fleetingly, and saw that she was correct. I wrote _prophase_ down in the space on her worksheet, and I noticed that she was staring at my sloping script, and the ink which was still wet on the page.

I grabbed the next slide swiftly and more forcefully than I had intended to, and switched out the first. I glanced at it, recognising it immediately as anaphase.

She seemed disappointed that I had such ease identifying it, and spoke in what I presumed she hoped was an indifferent voice, "May I?"

I smirked and pushed the microscope towards her, watching her lean towards it eagerly, then watching her face fall as she discovered that I was in fact veracious.

"Slide three." She ordered, holding her outstretched hand towards me without looking at my face. I looked at her delicate hand, her dainty fingers and the enticing blue veins pulsing in her small, thin wrists and licked my lips. I placed the third slide in her palm carefully, so as not to touch her ivory skin again.

I watched her place the slide under the microscope and look for a second before telling me it was interphase and shoving the machine towards me with all of her strength, which was not great. I looked through the lens, seeing, as expected, that she was correct.

Her hand jerked, as if she was planning to record her result herself but thought better of the idea. I wrote down our answer and looked at the fourth slice, which we corroborated was telophase.

Throughout the remainder of the exercise, we spoke only when absolutely necessary, and maybe due to the painful silence of our working atmosphere or maybe because we both seemed to be experts on onions and mitosis, we were finished before any of our other classmates were even close.

_No one will know if I look in the textbook._ I could hear the deceptive thoughts of Harold Davenport, who was sat next to Gerry Rogerson at a desk near the back. I imagined telling Mr Banner about the cheating which was taking place behind his back in his very own classroom. I smiled at the thought of his face if his naivety was dispelled.

I stared at her, frustrated at how she was avoiding me, but suddenly became aware that she was scrutinising my face, looking confused.

"Did you get contacts?" She blurted out, pleased with herself for identifying the subtle difference.

I froze, realising that my eyes had returned to their usual golden state; the state they occupied when I was not lusting blood. I tried to look confused, widening the offending eyes, and speaking in a puzzled voice, "No."

"Oh. I thought there was something different about your eyes." She mumbled.

I shrugged and looked away, and I could almost hear her confusion. Not in my usual way, but I could feel the cogs in her brain turning. I knew what she meant; when she had seen me previously, even at the start of this period, my eyes would have been the vivid, flat black. She probably thought she was crazy.

My hands clenched into fists as sensed her fragrance again, trying to block it out. She looked at my hands and I saw a flicker of sadness overcome her face for a moment.

At that point, Mr Banner walked towards our desk, obviously inquisitive as to why we were no longer working. I glanced around the room, to see that the rest of the class were still slaving away. He picked up the worksheet and read our answers, which were all correct.

"So Edward," he sighed, "didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?"

"Bella." I corrected, "Actually she identified three of the five."

Mr Banner's face registered shock, and looked from me to her sceptically. I could hear his suspicions before he voiced them.

"Have you done this lab before?" He asked, looking at Bella.

She blushed more and gave me a sheepish sideways smile, "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?" He suggested, looking disgruntled.

"Yeah." She said, sheepishly.

Our teacher nodded, "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

_She could have said, _thought Dr Banner, before plastering a fake smile on his face, "Well, I guess it's good you two are lab partners."

Bella nodded, probably disagreeing with him inside, and restarted her doodling. I noticed an eye in her doodles, which looked strangely similar to mine. She scribbled over the eye, and resumed drawing random swirls.

I was unnerved by the silence; it was much easier for me to talk to people when I knew what they were thinking, as I could bring their preferred subjects into the conversation. It was a new and compelling challenge speaking to somebody who seemed to eradicate my power.

I remembered hearing Mike's incredulous thoughts when Bella had confessed her utter loathing of snow, so attempted to make small talk.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I said passively.

"Not really." She said - a closed, uninviting answer.

I persisted, "You don't like the cold."

"Or the wet," she expanded, before turning her eyes back downwards towards her notebook.

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live then," I said.

"You have no idea." She muttered under her breath, partially to herself. Her voice was dark and icy as if she was protecting some terrible secret, which weighed down her ever-beating heart.

"Why did you come here, then?" I asked curiously, astounding myself with my severe rudeness.

I wished that she had not come here, for various reasons, most too perplexing for even myself to fully comprehend. It wasn't that I did not like her, for she seemed likable enough, if not a little shy. She was certainly of above average intelligence, and something about her personality intrigued me, forcing me to desire to get to know her. The mysterious allure of her unfathomable exceptance to my talent captivated my attentions.

As I looked at her, I realised that she had a unique type of beauty. Her features were not fully in proportion, and the paleness of her skin would have struck me as relatively unhealthy, did I not live with six other vampires, with skins whiter than the palest ivory. She didn't possess the Rosalie-ish classical radiance and confidence, but in that moment, I began to perceive that she was one of the most pulchritudinous and stunning humans I had ever seen.

It was for a purely selfish reason that I wished she had never come here. It would unquestionably have made things simpler, and if she had stayed in Phoenix, she would have been safe, away from the monster that raged inside of me. If I had never smelt her blood, the lust would not be swelling up inside, threatening to take over. I would not have to resist the temptation bubbling up inside me, the serpent presenting me with the perfect prey, mouthwateringly vulnerable and far too close.

She looked shocked at the vulgarity of the question, and I sensed that she did not want me to invade the thick bubble of privacy that surrounded her.

"It's… complicated." She said, half smiling, her small lips turning slightly up at the ends, but her eyes still complete with a wistful, depressed edge.

"I think I can keep up." I pressed, wanting - no _needing_­ more information. Her eyes met mine and she gave me a long look before sighing and speaking.

"My mother got remarried." She said.

I felt sympathetic towards her; for I could barely reminisce about my own mother, who was a distant, ancient memory, stored somewhere in the part of my brain which remained human, housing all of my humane thoughts, memories and desires.

"That doesn't sound too complex," I said, moderately insensitively, "when did that happen?"

"Last September." She said, in a sad little voice.

"And you don't like him," I hypothesised.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young maybe, but nice enough." She said.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" I said, staring at her, watching for any informative flickers of emotion in her eyes.

"Phil travels a lot," she began, beginning to smile, "he plays ball for a living."

I smiled, desperately racking my brains, trying to think of the name, "Have I heard of him?" I asked, giving in.

"Probably not, he doesn't play _well._ Strictly minor league."

I chuckled slightly, and voiced my assumption, "so your mother sent you here so she could travel with him."

She looked at me, her eyes angry, and spoke without warmth in her voice. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

I coughed slightly, and felt frustrated. I could not read her thoughts, and her complex mind worked in such a way that my educated guesses were incorrect. The monster inside me growled and I felt my face contorting into a confused expression. "I don't understand." I murmured - a new, yet unpleasant, experience for me.

He sighed, and even I, amid my inability to read her could tell she was asking herself why she had even bothered to explain this to me.

She opened her mouth a little, as if deciding what to say, and I shot her an encouraging look. "She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided to spend some quality time with Charlie." Her voice was glum, and she sounded on the verge of tears.

"But now you're unhappy." I pointed out.

"And?" She said, looking at me with her tear filled eyes.

I shrugged, wondering how to make her feel better, "That doesn't seem fair."

She laughed dryly, without so much as a trace of delight or warmth, and snapped, "Hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't fair."

I sighed slightly; Jessica had obviously told Bella all about me, making her presume that I had a perfect carefree life. I knew that Jessica had never fully gotten over her infatuation with me, and I was sure that she would have relished in telling the new girl how no-one in this school was good-looking or rich enough for me.

Life wasn't fair - I knew that considerably better than most. I had lost my family and been turned into a monster against my will, and I was fighting my own nature trying not to sink my teeth into an innocent, wide eyed girl's skin.

I tried to make a joke of it, hoping for her eyes to light up with humour again. "I do believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before." I agreed, giving her an intense look.

"So that's all." She said forcefully, and I received the distinct impression that she wished to end the conversation. She was so desirable when she was angry. So desirable that I couldn't stop myself.

"You put on a good show, but I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." I said.

She grimaced at me.

"Am I wrong?" I said, in mock-confusion, because I was sure my analysis was correct.

She turned sharply away from me, and I had to fight the urge yet again, try to coax my eyes back to their ochre.

Her reaction convinced me of my diagnosis. "I didn't think so." I said.

She glared at me, as if she wanted me to shrivel up in a corner and die, which would of course be impossible, "Why does it matter to _you_?" I snorted slightly, watching her pretend to be looking at Mr Banner.

"That's a very good question." I contemplated, more to myself than to her. She sighed heavily and stared at the blackboard, feigning interest.

"Am I annoying you?" I asked, for I was certain that I was.

She glanced at me, and as if the barrier around her heart had broken, she began to speak her mind. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself, my face is so easy to read - my mother always calls me her open book." She frowned, creating small wrinkles in her taut forehead.

I was incredulous, was she transparent to everyone but me, or did her mother just know her exceptionally well? "On the contrary," I said sincerely, allowing myself to smile, "I find you very difficult to read."

"You must be a good reader then." She replied quickly.

I flashed her a smile, baring my bright white teeth, which did not strike a heavy contrast with the colour of my skin. "Usually." I responded honestly.

She looked quite dizzy and blushed again; it was becoming a rather common occurrence, and the rush of blood to her cheeks made me feel hungry. I tried to think about what I had learnt about her, she was sensitive and intriguing and I was sure her parents relied on her heavily. I couldn't do it, could I? I wasn't that much of a monster.

I leaned away as far as possible from her tiny, vulnerable body and my contemplations were interrupted by Mr Banner's voice.

"Okay class," he said, "I see that most of you have completed the task to the best of your ability, so I will explain the answers."

The class groaned collectively, and I heard their angry thoughts; most of them had not completed the exercise.


End file.
